A Eurotrip's Complications
by Occulta
Summary: Kyle and the gang are celebrating High School graduation in the best way possible-with a euro-trip! But when trouble stirs and the City of Love lives up to its name, will Kyle be able to leave? Rated M for later chapters. A horrible summary, I know
1. Graduating to our 'Real Lives'

Have you ever wanted something to just be over with? I know you only graduate from high school once in your life… But could they at least make it more comfortable and use some other type of clothing that is a little less annoying? I tugged irritably at the royal blue cloth sticking to my thigh as I let out a sigh. I could still hear Mr.-I mean-_Ms. _Garrison (I could NEVER get used to the sex changes that man/woman repeatedly went through!) droning on at the podium. Sweat beaded my forehead under the stage lights.

I tugged at my gown again and gave a side-ways glance at my fellow classmates. Cartman stood a few people down to my left. He was casually scratching his nose to disguise the fact he was craft fully shoving a handful of candies into his mouth. He had slimmed down since fourth grade, during the awkward growth spurts of puberty. But he was still a fat ass. I rolled my eyes as he plopped another handful into his mouth. I decided that I wasn't going to ask where he was keeping them, and to be honest, I don't think I wanted to know.

Instead, I scanned the four rows of soon-to-be-graduates standing on the rows below me, easily spotting Stan by his black hair poking out from under his hat. (Not to mention the fact he was taller than almost everyone else.) Wendy and him were exchanging gooey-eyed glances at each other. It was really funny, after fourth grade Wendy wanted nothing to do with Stan. Well… not until ninth grade when she realized every other girl in school couldn't stop fawning over him. God, how I despised her.

Kenny stood a few down from Stan, still trying to figure out how he could 'accidentally' pull up a girl's gown. He wanted to do it to both sexes, but most of the guys were wearing shorts under their gowns, while girls… not so much. At least he could harass both sexes now… And have a greater assortment of porn.

I held back another sigh. At least he wasn't shy about his sexuality. I, on the other hand, had only confided in three people: Ike, Stan, and Kenny. I don't think I could ever stand Cartman if he found out. It was bad enough after I had gotten a new hairstyle.

On my first day of high school the teachers informed me that my ushanka would be 'too distracting' to the other students. Seriously, I had worn it for years, all throughout elementary and middle school. Cartman wouldn't shut up about it the first day, while I myself had liked the hair cut. My bangs, just barely touching the top of my eyes, were cut at an angle so that they blended in with the rest of my chin-length hair. My hair still had some curl to it, but after the haircut it laid down mostly straight.

"Lets get this over with, m'kay?" Mr. Mackey stated into his microphone. I snapped back to attention, clutching the scroll of paper that represented my graduation. I strained to hear the rest of the speech, failing miserably as my classmates started to chatter excitedly. "Congratulations for graduating! Now go enjoy your 'real world' lives, M'kay?"

A flurry of blue caps flew into the air, blocking out the lights as I pushed through the crowd. People clambered around me, a mixture of hysterical girls, blubbering parents, and fist-bumping guys. But I ignored them as I broke through their lines. I glanced over the crowd, from my mother, who was waving at me excitedly, to my friends (Kenny, Stan, and Cartman). They were grouped together just outside the graduate crowd. Kenny and Stan waved at me as Cartman swallowed more candies. I could hear him complaining about the heat and gowns already. I sighed to myself as I waved back to my mother while motioning to my friends and received an allowing nod before turning back to them. My chest tightened as I moved to join them. I might never see these guys once I leave for college…

That was why I had to make this Euro-trip the best thing of my life!


	2. Two Weeks of 'Vacation'

The sound of busy traffic buzzed through my head as I weaved down the streets of Paris, absent mindedly dodging crowds as I waited for Gregory's call. I had returned from Normandy a little less than an hour ago, back from my latest mission. I even had a new battle wound that was currently hiding under my loose-fitting, dark green t-shirt and dark taupe(1) cargo pants to prove it.

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air as I passed a bakery, the muscles in my stomach clenching as it gave a small rumble. _Gregory, why the hell were you taking so long? _The cell phone in my bag vibrated softly in reply. I scanned the area around to make sure nobody was watching before turning down the nearest alley, careful to avoid trash, as I pulled the vibrating device from my bag."Gregory?"

"Aye. You have returned from Normandy?"

"Oui. The mission was completed quickly with little to no damage."

"Ah, really? Your comrade mentioned something about a gunshot wound?"

I felt my jaw clench close at the mention of the gauze-wrapped wound on my side. I kept silent as I heard shuffling on Gregory's end of the line.

"Well?" He asked.

"It is nothing to be concerned about."

I ground out from my teeth as I glared at the brick wall. Every time I was injured Gregory would find a way to make my life Hell by putting restrictions on my job.

"Is that so? Well, whether or not your injury is that dire, we have decided it is time for you to take a two week vacation. We fear you're spending too much time in the field, and we don't wish for one of our best to be killed due to fatigue or to be trailed by an enemy."

"That is no reason to take such a drastic action as having me removed from the field. I simply stumbled once, a mistake that will never happen again, Gregory." I could feel my anger rising in the back of my throat as I squeezed the phone, hearing a small creaking noise in reply.

"The decision has been made. There is no point in arguing it any farther."

"What am I suppose to do for two weeks? Sit around twiddling my fucking thumbs while I sit on my ass?" I snapped at him, a dull throb starting in the back of my head. _Damn it! I'm going to need another cigarette..._ I dug through my pockets as I heard more shuffling on Gregory's side.

"Well, if you really feel it necessary to occupy yourself, I can offer your services to a friend of mine at the American embassy."

"Oh, just what I need!" I nearly growled, "A bunch of American idiots whining about their troubles!"

"Well, you wouldn't be dealing with their clients, but performing odd jobs for the director. Such as delivering messages, running errands, etc."

I pressed the cell phone between my ear and my shoulder and began to dig through my pocket, cursing myself when my hands came up empty. _Why the hell was God such a bitch? _

"Why the fuck not?" I seethed as the buzzing in my head grew into a throb. _Damn you God! Now I really needed a cigarette!_

"Then I will inform her of your decision. You will be asked to arrive at 8, and you will be paid for the jobs you perform. That concludes all the business I have with you." I sat silent until I heard the monotone beeping telling me that he was no longer connected. I stabbed the 'end call' button, using all of my self-restraint to keep from destroying the phone on the spot. My gaze rose from the phone to the dark clouds settling on the horizon, a sigh escaping my lips.

"God… why must you fuck with me?" I asked impatiently before shoving the god-damned piece of technology into my pocket. I pushed past the bakery that had earlier tempted my stomach, craving instead the relief nicotine would bring to my throbbing skull. The gray sky rumbled as the crowds of the street's shrank, most disappearing underground into the metro, others ducking into the nearest café in hopes that the storm would blow over quickly. I could have given less of a shit about the storm as I trudged down the worn cobblestone street, both hands buried into my pockets.

Why give God the satisfaction?

I pushed the door open into my apartment, plopping my bag down next to the door as I walked across the hardwood floors into the small dining room. I reached instinctively for the pack of cigarettes laying on the table, flipping the pack's lid and bringing one of the sticks to my mouth. I grabbed the lighter that had been sitting next to the pack, igniting the lighter with a soft click before holding it to the tip of my salvation. The throbbing subsided as I took a long, deep inhalation of nicotine before giving my apartment an accessing walkthrough.

The house had only the bare necessities: a kitchen/dining room, a small living room, a bath, and a bedroom. The kitchen came equipped with a black slate countertop and standard white cabinets, filled with a basic set of pots and pans, silverware, cups, and plates. A small silver espresso maker sat on the counter next to a miniature rotating spice rack that had been left untouched since I had moved in. The only addition I had made was the mini fridge(2) that sat that the edge of the kitchen, between the cabinets and the black, dining room table that I had pushed against the wall. The table could fit approximately four people, but in its current position surrounded on two sides by walls and the other side occupied by the fridge, it was lucky if you could fit two.

Off to the left of the dining room laid the living room; a small hunter green rug laid in the center of the room with a black coffee table placed on top of it. A black leather couch sat parallel to the longest side of the table, against the wall facing a larger coffee-table replica baring a small TV.

I padded through the living room as I headed for the bedroom, taking quick puffs of the cigarette as the throbbing in my head stalled. It was the only room in the apartment that had been painted a different color than the building's standard white.

I opened the door, absorbing the pastel brown walls before glancing towards my bed. Black sheets covered the mattress with the matching comforter a tangled mess at the foot of the bed, but that wasn't what drew my eyes. At the head of the bed laid a small, forest green pillow. It reminded me of the dream that had plagued my mind for about the last eight years of my life. I could never remember exactly what the dream was about when I woke up… but I was always left with the feeling that I was missing something, or someone, that was important. On those nights I would wake up in a cold sweat as I tried to cling to the memory of the dream before I would lose it to the black void of my subconscious mind. I would lay awake unable to sleep the rest of the night as my mind churned in turmoil.

A soft stream of smoke escaped my lips as I turned to the bathroom, pushing the door open before flipping on the lights. The color layout was similar to the kitchen, black slate counters and white cabinets, but instead of hardwood floors, the floor was covered in checkered black and white tiles. I took another sharp drag of my cigarette before setting it on the sink's counter, reaching for the hem of my shirt and tugging it off. I threw the shirt through the door to my bedroom before turning to the mirror set above the sink, grabbing the gauze taped to my side and ripping it off in one quick motion. I ignored the soft sting that radiated from the spot as I inspected the damage in the mirror. It was little more than a scratch, but due to its position across my side, it had bled more than originally expected, causing my comrade to suggest bandaging. But, compared to some of the other scars that littered my chest, it was as harmless as a small bruise. My eyes wandered across my chest in the mirror, tracing the long diagonal scar that ran from the edge of my collarbone, across my heart, to the top of my stomach.

It was the only thing I had to remind me of my parents, not that I had ever really met my father. He and my mother had dated for 6 months, until she told him she was three months pregnant with me. She had planned on getting engaged to him and had thought that he would be happy with their unexpected child. She was wrong. Once she told him, he fled, never turning back, exclaiming that he had never intended to carry the relationship on for so long. My mother feel into despair. The man she had planned to spend the rest of her life with had run away, leaving her alone with the bastard child he contributed to growing in her womb. In one of her fits of depression she found a solution to one of her problems, and with a coat hanger, she attempted to cease my very existence in her own attempted abortion. Apparently, I was as apt to survive then as I was now, somehow living through the amateur attempt on my life to curse her with my birth.

She had never accepted me, instead using me as the scapegoat to focus her long lost dreams on, blaming me for my father's inability to stay and claiming that I would grow to be just like him. This was how I lived my life for fifteen years until my mother had a fatal motorcycle accident. (At the age of ten my mother decided I was now old enough to feed myself so she could learn to re-enjoy life with numerous boyfriends that she would leave with for long periods of time.) When the car hit her it flipped the motorcycle, slamming her head-first against the concrete, shattering her skull and killing her instantly.

Gregory came to the funeral with me, offering me his presence as a consolation because without him I would be the only one present. (My grandparents didn't see me as a grandchild, but an abomination forced upon my mother for her sins and saw no sense in attending the funeral of their disinherited daughter.) He had been my friend since grade school, he had been one of the few to understand that I didn't wish to become emotionally attached to anyone. He was also the one who offered me a way to support myself after my mother's passing… but that was over four years ago.

I shook my head roughly, shaking free the memories of the past that had drifted through my mind. I snatched the cigarette from the sink, drinking in the smoke as it coiled from the end before turning from the sink. I walked through the bathroom door to my bed, glancing once again at the green pillow as I sat myself on the end of my bed. At least the shit God had put me through had taught me one useful lesson: Anyone and everyone could be a potential enemy, and they most likely are.

(1) Derives from the Latin name for the European Mole, _Talpa europaea_, in reference to the average color of the mole's fur.

(2) Fridges are not common household items in France.


End file.
